Blooming in the Dark
by CercandoUnaVoce
Summary: 'Family' doesn't always mean blood ties. 'Trust' doesn't always mean unconditioned approval. 'Thoughtfulness' doesn't always mean extreme sacrifice. These are all lessons Street will learn the hard way, hoping this time will not be too late to make amends for his wrong judgment calls.


_**Author's note: **__I wrote this story for the __Writers Anonymous Flower Language Challenge._

-o- -o- -o-  
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Unbelievable how four walls of bare concrete and a bunch of steel furniture can make a person feel at home, yet it was the sensation Street had every time he set foot in the kitchen at the SWAT headquarters.

Light chuckles filled the room, and meanwhile Tan settled on a stool, Street headed straight to the fridge. He tossed a water bottle to his teammate then pulled out a second one for himself. While drinking eagerly, a pungent smell made Street's nose scrunch.

It was a bright and pleasantly warm morning. A perfect day to go chill in Long Beach or have a picnic in a wild area surrounded by the colors of that late spring, but a little less ideal for chasing suspects up the North Hollywood's hills.

The empty bottle crackled in Street's hands as he looked over to his teammate. "Come on, how is it possible you're still that fresh?"

"Genetics." Tan shrugged, taking a small sip of his water.

"Alright." Street leaned on the cold steel table with a smirk on his face. "But the next time, I take the car while you run after the suspect."

"Man, there's a good reason why you're not allowed to drive as often as you'd like. You know that, right?"

A flippant answer stuck in Street's throat at Rocker's incursion.

"Street, there's a woman at the door for you. Says she's your aunt or something."

Street's smile faded into a frown. "What? I have no aunts." He dug in his memory. Back in the days, an eccentric woman who made her foster children call her 'Aunt Ruth' had taken care of him for a little while, but it could not be her now. Not a chance.

"Don't look at me, man." Tan shrugged.

"Me neither. I'm a SWAT leader, not your doorman, Street," Rocker said, opening the kitchen door wide. "Figure it out yourself."

Standing in the corridor side by side to one of the uniformed officers was a dark-blond haired woman, presumably in her fifties. Long and tapered fingers kept adjusting the bottom of a short-sleeved maroon shirt; nothing from her clothing to her appearance was particularly noticeable, except for a set of expectant, deep dark eyes.

Tan stood by the kitchen door, observing Street cautiously advancing.

"Thanks, Neil. I got this now." Street nodded at the uniformed guy.

"Jimmy?" The woman took Street's hands in hers and peered directly into his eyes. "Or you prefer James? I— I don't—"

Street retracted from her touch and crossed his arms; her soulful look was quite unsettling. "Jim will be fine. And you are... ?"

"I'm sorry." She brushed a strand of hair over her ear. "I'm Elizabeth. Elizabeth Street. But you can call me Liz."

Street's eyes narrowed while his lips slightly opened, but no more than a sigh came out of his mouth.

"I married your uncle Ralph."

At the sound of that name, Street tensed up, tightening in his arms.

Elizabeth beamed kindly. "That makes me your aunt, doesn't it?"

"Okay," Street said in a cold voice. "Congratulations, but I can't see how that's any of my business."

Dismay drew on Elizabeth's face. "Can we_—_ Can we talk somewhere private, please?"

Street glanced around; Tan's were not the only eyes nailed to the two of them. Chris, too, was now silently observing the scene, leaned on the armory's entrance.

"I'm working now."

"Then tell me when I can come back. Please. Ralph asked me to_—_"

"Look,_" _Street unfolded one arm and put his finger-spread hand in front of him_, "_you seem a nice lady and all, but_..._ Ralph and I have _nothing_ to say to each other." He accompanied his words with an eloquent gesture with both his hands.

"Please, it's important." Elizabeth leaned toward Street. "I came here all the way from Phoenix just to see you, Jim."

Street made a little step back. "Sorry, I'm not interested."

"But _please__—_"

Hondo's voice interrupted: "Hostage situation, East Hollywood. 20-Davids, let's roll!"

"I have to go now." Street made a sign to Neil. "This agent will show you out."

"It's really important. Your uncle Ralph is_—_"

"Whatever it is, I don't want to hear it." Street stepped aside. "I'm sorry."

Tan and Deacon quickly passed by. Chris shortly followed, wearing a stern expression. "Street, we gotta go."

Elizabeth's pleading eyes followed them as they hurried off. In the parking lot, Black Betty's engine was already warm and ready, and its shining armor stood out in the late morning sun.

"Whoa, man." Tan stopped Street, glancing back inside."Don't you think you've been a little rude to that woman?"

"You don't know the whole story, okay?"

"And you do?"

All eyes on him, Street fell silent. Tan crossed his look with Chris then stepped to the front seat while the rest of the team hopped in the back.

Hondo peered at Street. "Troubles again?"

"No." Street's hand firmly sliced the air. "No more family madness, I swear. I'm all done with that."

Hondo darted a whatever-you-say look_; _at the moment, _family_ was a sore subject for him too_._ Beside him, Deacon's eyes went straight to the heart, half-judging and half-pitiful, but what unsettled Street the most was continually catching Chris's glares.

"Three minutes." Luca's voice ringed from the driving seat.

Before wearing his helmet, Street dried his forehead. It was time for some action for the 20-Davids.

-o- -o- -o-

The back of Black Betty opened to the SWAT headquarters, and a brilliantly blue sky greeted grimy faces, which were hardly the same that hopped in the vehicle about four hours prior.

"Debrief in 20," Hondo grunted, disappearing into the austere building.

Beaten looks met dispirited ones as the guys scanned one another to make sure they were all in one piece. Silence filled the sweltering air until Tan's eyes landed on the edge of the parking lot. "She's still here. It must be important," he said.

All eyes converged on the woman, who observed them from a distance while silently begging for attention. Street let out a helpless sigh; _she _was still there.

"Sort it out," Deacon said. "Quickly. It's not the right time to mess with Hondo."

It was already a tough day. First, the crazy chase with Tan in the early morning, then, hours of waiting and negotiating had culminated in a breach, which resolved with an injured hostage and a dead suspect. The last thing Street needed was some family drama.

He took off his vest and helmet and handed them to Tan. "Go ahead, I'll be right there," Street said, silently thanking his teammate.

Staring intently at the woman, Chris looked like one who could smell trouble. Street approached Elizabeth at a slow pace; the only thing he could smell was his need for a shower.

Apprehensive eyes laid on him. "Are you okay? You seem—"

"Stop pretending you care." Street folded his arms. "Just tell me what do Ralph and you want from me."

"Why do you say that? You're family, of course I care."

"Fam_—_" Street looked away while a baffled grin turned into an irked huff. He already had a family. In only two years, SWAT had given him much more than uncle Ralph in his whole life. "I didn't even know you existed until like a minute ago."

"I didn't know about you, either." Elizabeth's eyes sparkled in bleakness. "It has always been difficult for Ralph to talk about his family. Of course, he had told me about his brother's death. All about it, at least I thought until..."

Street tensed up as one of Black Betty's doors slammed closed and Luca peaked from behind it. He was all busy taking care of mechanical stuff, but anyway, Street motioned his newly found aunt to step aside, aiming for a more private spot.

"I still can't see the relevance of all this."

Elizabeth stretched out an arm, trying to place it on Street's shoulder, but once again, he stepped back and tightened in his folded arms.

"Ralph kept your existence from me for the last twelve years just because he was ashamed of how he treated you."

The unusual high temperature of the day was nothing compared to the fire Street felt mounting inside him. He vividly remembered overhearing Ralph's talk with the social worker twenty years back. He remembered how the man refused to take his twelve-year-old nephew to live with him because _—_his words_— _he didn't want anything to do with the little rat who helped that devil woman kill his brother. The hatred words Ralph had used and the look he had had in his eyes reminded Street of his father's so much that he had convinced himself it was a blessing not to move to Arizona with his uncle; however, the sense of guilt Ralph instilled in him had lived in his heart for years.

"But now he wants to make amends," Elizabeth continued in an unsettlingly authentic voice. "Ralph wants the three of us to be a family."

She was talking about the man who had refused to take care of Street when he had no one else. About the man who had shown up only once in twenty years, just to take back from Street's mother a precious necklace_, _which she apparently had stolen from his paternal grandmother. The man that then had promised he would never come back bothering them again. Now_— _two years after that wasted occasion and twenty years too late _—_that same man wanted to make amends to him.

"Listen, Elizabeth_—_"

"Liz. Please."

Street let out a feeble sigh. "Liz. I'm sure you have the best intention, but_—_"

"It has not been easy, but I convinced Ralph that_—_"

"You convinced him." Street nodded at himself. "That's all clear now."

"No." Liz tried to make physical contact again, with no success. "No, no, no. It's not how it looks like. He really wants to make up to you, but..."

The hesitation in her voice made all instantly clear for Street. Uncle Ralph needed something.

-o- -o- -o-

Street rode his bike toward the horizon where pink flecks gradually colored the sky. With his hand firmly gripped to the throttle and the leather jacket stuck to his sweaty skin, the high speed was the only relief from his turmoil. He only wished the ride could never end.

The traffic shifted from intense to none, and in a short time, Street didn't know where he was anymore. But he didn't care. He had nowhere to go. He had no one to turn to. Not since he sent his mom back to jail, not since his foster brother was gone, not with his new girlfriend out of town.

Sure enough, his so-called friends_—_the SWAT family_—_were still there where he left them. But he left them anyway; they couldn't understand. They never could. They said they cared about him and always pretended to know what was best for him, but what did they actually know? They've never truly trusted his judgment, especially when his birth family was involved.

Street unconsciously accelerated. There was someone who trusted him to do the right thing. A person whose life depended upon him. Alright, a person that had never cared about him, nor had even ever pretended to. But it could be different now, or at least uncle Ralph promised it would be. Street had the chance to have an actual family... as long as he donated a part of his own body to Ralph.

Street's stomach cramped and his chest ached. A constriction feeling made him numb, and when he pulled the brake, he didn't know whether he was going to stop or where.

Before he knew, Street was at the side of the road, sat on a barren hillock while fighting with his helmet laces and with the zip of his jacket.

Not a single cloud was in the intense orange sky. A light breeze caressed Street's skin as that hot day left its place to a pleasantly cool evening, last bit of the short Californian spring. He could breathe again, even if his head was blank and his heart heavy.

That place felt oddly familiar. Street warily got back to his feet and pushed his bike up a back road. The more he advanced, the more he remembered. He hadn't been there in twenty years and nature and human action had done their thing, but there was no doubt that was _the place_.

His subconscious had gotten him there for a reason. Abandoned his bike, Street walked along. Silence echoed on the stones while the dim sunlight faded into darkness. A ruined grave, full of brushwood, took hold of his attention. He read the cracked headstone.

_Beloved brother and devoted father, _it said_._ Street's stomach turned. The only thing his father was devoted to was alcohol; the man was still lying even from the grave. Whoever commissioned that engraving must have had a perverse sense of humor, Street thought. Ralph, for sure, as no one else cared enough.

Street didn't remember he had read that engraving the day of the funeral, and even if he did, he must have erased it from his memory. Too bad he couldn't erase his whole first twelve years of life enduring the man.

Memories came back at Street while he glanced at the well-cared tombs all around. He could still smell the freshly loose soil and feel the dreadful coldness he had felt in his bones while standing among the half dozen people who had dared to attend the funeral. He could still hear the solemn silence resounding in his head when the casket was taken down and buried. It was all there before his eyes as it was happening now, as it was Ralph's anger and the fear weighing on his own heart.

Why am I even here? Street asked himself, his hands scrunching in fists. He took a closer look at the engraving. In a few months, it would be precisely twenty years since his father's death. Uncle Ralph would say that in a few months it will be the twentieth anniversary of his brother's cold-blooded murder. Until recently, Street would have called it the anniversary of his own salvation, but now he didn't know anymore.

Oh, the beatings and the abuses were real enough; Street could still feel them on his skin, but... after finally seeing the truth on the manipulative nature of his mother, he could be sure of nothing. As Ralph had said, maybe his mother made him remember only what she wanted him to.

Who to believe then, when you can't trust your own memory but neither the people who claim to love you?

_Poisonous blood_. Street shifted weight uneasily. He'd always wanted to make a difference and help people who couldn't help themselves. He'd always fought hard for it, but now that someone needed him, he wanted to call himself out. How was he different from his selfish mother? How was he different from his mean father?

A couple of early stars and a nearly full moon enlightened the falling night. As Street took a deep breath, a weak but sweet scent tickled his nostrils, vaguely reminding him of lemons. To his surprise, what he previously thought was brushwood growing wild on his father's grave were indeed spontaneous flowers, blooming in the moonlight.

Street breathed deeply, observing that bunch of little flowers that had opened their yellow petals and fluoresced lightly under his eyes. How could something so beautiful come from such a horrible man's remains?

A thought crossed Street's dazzled mind. Could he be like that flower? Blooming in the darkness, growing from a wasteland into something that mattered to someone?

First thing in the morning, Street decided, he would make an appointment to get tested. He would give hope to Ralph and Liz.

-o- -o- -o-

Street sneaked into the SWAT HQ and rushed to the locker room, hoping no one would spot him before he could change to his work clothes. The last thing he wanted was to explain to anyone the reason for his delay.

As soon as he set a foot inside, a disturbing coldness crossed Street's bones. Chris was there, all focused on searching something inside her locker. They were well aware of each other's presence, but none of them dared to break the silence.

Street walked on eggshells, only aiming for a quick change and a quiet exit.

"You got tested." Chris's disconcerted voice came from behind her locker door.

Street stiffened. How could she possibly know?

"If you want to keep a secret, you'll have to do better than that." Chris emerged from her locker and glanced at Street's wrist.

Of course, he'd forgotten the hospital ID bracelet on. "I took a blood test, so what?" He ripped off the bracelet and hid it in his backpack.

"At least have the decency not to lie to me."

Street dug himself into his locker. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You did the compatibility test. On your uncle's request."

Street's throat closed as he finally faced Chris. "What do you think you know?"

"Don't play dumb." Chris's deep-set eyes darted at him. "You knew Luca was overhearing you in the parking lot yesterday."

Street snorted. "So, your new hobby is to talk behind my back now?"

"Luca wanted to talk to you after last shift, but you went AWOL all night and left before he got up this morning. He's worried. And so am I."

Street shifted uneasily. "Who else knows?"

"For now? Just the two of us."

"It better stay this way."

"Admit it to yourself, you were just looking for an excuse to let us know, so we could make you change your mind."

"You're so wrong! This is none of your concern. Of any of you." Street slammed his locker door with his cold, shaking hand.

"It's not?" Chris stared with amazing staidness. "How your leaving the squad with a man down should be none of our concern?"

Silence fell as a shadow crossed the frosted glass of the locker room door.

"Have you at least planned to talk to Hondo?"

Street finished tying his shoes. "If I'm not a match, I won't have to leave the squad. And until I know that, there is nothing to tell Hondo." He glared up. "There already are enough people sticking their nose into my business."

"And what if you are? You'll drop _everything_ to rush to a man you barely know and play the hero?" Chris's eyes veiled with tears. "Street, a kidney transplant is a serious matter."

"And I thought that you of all people would understand. You already donated your bone-marrow to your cousin, and now don't tell me that if one of your relatives needed a transplant, you would not offer every part of your body without hesitation."

"That's different."

"Different how? Because it's you?"

Chris let out an exasperated sigh. "Come on, Street, open your eyes. Your uncle is only using you."

Street's heart clenched in denial. He stepped toward the door as the air in there was too heavy for him to breathe.

"When will you learn?" Chris harshly said to his back.

Street froze, his hands shaking.

"When will you stop putting blood ties before the people who really care about you? Street, I—"

"So now you care?" The disbelief in Street's voice anticipated his pained expression as he slowly turned to face Chris again.

She narrowed her eyes with intensity. "I always did."

"A few months ago, we couldn't even be friends because it was not right for you and for the people you really cared about. You didn't care that I needed you then. It didn't matter to you how much I needed you. You stopped listening to me, and now I should listen to you when you clearly know nothing about how I feel?"

"This is unfair." Chris's voice came out small as it never was.

"Is it? Come and tell me what changed now! You run to me putting your nose into my business only because you're alone now? And I shall just let you do?"

Chris gave his back at Street, she was now the one aiming for the door to escape the pain they were inflicting each other.

"No." Chris turned and peered directly at Street's stubborn expression. "I'm not giving up on you just because you're incredibly mean. I can't let you risk your life for this... this... _dependence_ you have."

"I risk my life every day for people I don't even know. How is this any different?"

"I'm not going to let you do this without thinking." Chris's voice was now shaking.

"Too bad you've nothing to say in the matter."

"You're not thinking about the consequence. If you donate your kidney, everything will change for you. You'll have to leave active duty—"

"This is more important than me, how can't you see that?" Street said hotly.

"It's not just your career at stake, Street, it's your life too."

"And you don't think I'm already scared enough?" Street looked away from Chris's intense eyes and took a deep breath. Then he shook his head, and met her gaze again. "Why can't you guys just support me for once?"

"_For once_?" Chris's rage was visible on her face, but the door opened before the argument could escalate.

"We have a call," Tan said timidly, staring at his two frozen teammates.

"We're coming," Street said coldly, without interrupting the eye contact with Chris.

-o- -o- -o-

The rising sun brightened the cloud-veiled sky in dark yellow shades. Street took his sweet time driving through the traffic while the comforting roar of the engine of his bike ran as white noise in the background of his chaotic thoughts.

The day was about to start for pretty much everyone, but not for the 20-Davids. For them, an infinite shift was just coming to an end. But for Street, the well-deserved rest was yet not an option.

The atmosphere at work had been oppressive lately, quite as much as the one at home. Hondo and the guys clearly sensed something was up with him; how could they not with the looks Chris constantly darted at him? And Luca didn't lose the chance to lecture him every time they were alone, on and off work, making his home not his safe place anymore.

Things were not any less complicated with Molly. Their phone calls had become cold and meaningless. It was clear to Street that his girlfriend wanted to support him, but her grasp of what he was going through was weak and she often ended up telling him 'truths' he didn't want to hear, so while frustration mounted inside him, Street ended up being rude and selfish to her.

The last time they had talked, Molly had hung up on him. The more Street needed to be heard, loved, and guided, the more he found himself alone, confused, and lost. His heart pounded. One minute he was controlling shivers, the other he was sticky with sweat and fighting to breathe. And now Molly didn't even pick up the phone anymore.

The only fixed point in Street's life appeared his aunt and uncle. In the last couple of days, Street had spent all the time he could with Liz, getting to know each other. Whenever he called Ralph, he picked up. Even though catching up twenty years in a couple of phone calls was not so easy, that constancy felt incredibly reassuring.

A little voice in the back of his head told him that something wasn't right, but Street felt so incredibly good spending some time with his family_—_his actual family_—_that he chose to ignore the signs.

His subconscious was back at it at night, though. Street was all too used to nightmares_, _but this was different. He had not slept a whole night straight since the day he ended up by his father's grave.

He couldn't help fearing to be a match. It was not just because then he would not have any more excuses for keeping that secret with everyone, nor because he would have to make a definitive decision regarding the kidney donation and whether to just leave active duty or quit the job and the only life he knew. It was mostly because if he had the same blood as his uncle and his uncle had the same blood as his father, then...

Street didn't want anything to do with his father. _Anything_.

Ralph had loved his brother Eddie so much, and Street had no doubt the feeling had been mutual once. Wonders if Eddie would have ever considered the donation though... if he would ever have had the courage to step up for his brother. One sure thing was that Eddie never loved his son. Not enough at least, Street thought while waiting at a red-light.

The image of those little flowers that bloomed in the desolation of a graveyard's night loomed before Street's eyes whenever he closed them. Whenever he felt uncertain, that vision would inspire him to do the right thing.

The _right_ thing... Those words hovered in Street's mind while he parked his bike. The right thing for him was hardly the right thing for Ralph. But who was he to decide his own career was more important than another man's life?

Street walked the hospital hallway, breathing through his mouth to minimize the impact on his already upset stomach of the smell of disinfectant that permeated the walls. Aunt Liz was already waiting for him and welcomed him with a tensed smile.

It was the moment of the truth_— _and the truth was that Street was a perfect match_._

He needed to have a few more tests done and undergo a psychological evaluation before they could give the transplant the green light, the doctor had said, but the hardest part was done.

Sat at Liz's side with her hands clasped to his, Street's chest paralyzed. Her eyes glowed with tears of joy while his, unconsciously, inspected the surroundings to get stock of all the available exits.

Liz took out her cell phone. "You wanna be the one to tell your uncle the good news?"

As Street met her expectant smile, nausea stuck him and his muscle tensed. How could he tell her this was _not_ what he wanted?

-o- -o- -o-

After the last traces of the anesthesia had dissipated, Street woke up in a stark, gray room. _Alone_.

He felt alone in the deepest sense of the word.

The surgical incision itched, and Street would be stuck in that hospital bed for the night, like it was a mockery since the surgery didn't even take place.

The doctors started the kidney removal as planned, Street learned afterward. They had already made the incision in his lower back when sudden news made the surgery pointless. The unpredictable had happened: Ralph had passed away even before reaching the operating room.

It was all for nothing. He had turned his life upside down for _nothing_. Street utterly exhaled, and a sterile smell overloaded his senses, stirring up memories which had been better to leave alone. He unconsciously took another deep breath, clenching the sheets in his hands, making things worse.

The last tie with Street's father's side of the family was gone. But was it really such a bad thing?

Even aunt Liz, who for days had solemnly sworn she would have been his family forever, now refused to even talk to him. She had only visited briefly to blame him for Ralph's death, saying he took too long to decide_._ As if Street didn't feel guilty enough on his own… And then she had left him, alone as he'd ever been.

Street adjusted his position in bed; the soft mattress and the comfortable pillow were not enough to make him relax, but the flickering light of the corridor coming through the ajar door and the croaky voice of the speaker that now and then claimed some doctor's attention were not the reason he couldn't sleep.

His friends had tried to warn him, but he'd refused to listen. And now what he had always known deep down his heart was painfully clear: Liz and Ralph never wanted to be his family, they only wanted him as a spare part.

The stitches in Street's lower back stretched his skin while he reached out for his phone. Despite everything, he didn't want to be by himself. But who to call at this point? He had quit his job, despite he'd fought so hard to keep it in the last couple of years, because he thought it would have been too hard for him to stay at the office while others put their lives at stake; he had betrayed his friends, who had been his real and only family for longer than anyone else in his life for a fake family_…_

And Molly... He had treated her horribly in the last few days. Was it necessary to bother her while she was so busy working on an important case? Would she even answer his call?

Actually, no. Straight to voicemail. Street hung up and abandoned his head on the pillow, fighting to hold back tears.

This time he had really trashed out everything meaningful in his life.

The surgical incision burned as a constant reminder of all the mistakes he'd made in the last few days. While brooding on his wrong life choices, Street fiddled with his phone. Chris's number popped up on the screen, and he moved his finger to send the call but froze right away. He couldn't; she must hate him now.

Instead, Street tried again with Molly. Voicemail again. This time he cleared his voice and tried his best to explain what happened, hoping she would understand, hoping she would call him back.

He was used to sort things out on his own, but this time, Street fell asleep dreaming about his girlfriend showing up at the hospital to take care of him and about his friends texting him to know how he was doing.

He woke up in the middle of the night with a dreadful coldness tangling him. How could his friends show him support? He had not told anyone where he was, and he had not told anyone he was going to have surgery that day. And even if they knew, he couldn't expect they cared, not after the way he treated them.

-o- -o- -o-

Summer seemed to have come early in Arizona, Street thought as the surly heat slapped him in the face. He narrowed his eyes to defend from the morning sun while deciding which direction to take after leaving the hospital yard. Liz had taken him there, and now he felt a little lost.

Street wandered on the white and clean sidewalks for a while. He didn't know exactly what he expected from this situation and from Ralph and Liz, but it surely wasn't _this_.

Phoenix was not so different from Los Angeles, maybe just a little less crowded, especially as he was pretty far from the city center. Deep in thought, Street kept wandering. But he wasn't in Los Angeles anymore, so now he needed a motel because a six-hour road trip to go back home didn't seem the best idea.

To go back to what exactly, Street didn't know. The backpack started weighing on his shoulders while sweat rolled down his back, but he kept straining himself despite the doctor advised him against it. Just another wrong choice to add to the bill.

Before he could realize it, Street turned the auto-pilot on. Not the palms and trees that broke the infinite spot of concrete at one side nor the sporadic cars which glided past him at the other could keep him in the present. His past choices haunted his mind, the fear of the lonely future tangled his heart...

And then his phone rang. Street froze, seeing Commander Hicks's ID on the screen.

"_I heard you're still all in one piece._"

Molly, Street thought; she was the only one who knew. His heart pounded.

"_I'm_ _sorry for your loss, son._"

"Thank you, sir. It was not really—" Street grimaced. "Thank you, sir."

"_I just called to say that if you still want your job, 20-David always has an open spot for you_."

"But I thought—"

"_I haven't filed your resignation yet. Officially, you're on leave right now_."

"How—" Street reached a bus stop and sat on the bench. His chest felt lighter, flooded with relief. "Did Molly convince you?"

"_My daughter doesn't have a say in SWAT matters."_

Then who? Street thought, his voice not coming out.

_"It was Chris,"_ Hicks continued as he could see Street's baffled expression. _"She hoped you would come back."_

"What about Hondo?" Street swallowed, fearing the answer. It didn't matter if his teammates rooted for him or if the Commander agreed to his comeback, if his direct superior didn't want him on the team, it was over.

"_He stood at Chris's side when she came to my office._"

That's what _Family_ is, Street thought. A sigh full of pain left his lungs, but his face was numb as if he had lost the ability to smile.

Once he hung up with Hicks, Street focused on his breathing while looking up at the clear sky. Even after how he mistreated his friends, they were still there for him.

Street had a lot to think about. In any case, the useless incision had to heal completely before he could actually go back to work.

If that was still what he wanted.

The sun caressed Street's pallid face while the thought he didn't deserve his friends weighed on his heart. That was why he wasn't sure that coming back to 20-David was the right move. How could he keep hurting the people he loved the most?

Maybe it would just be better to leave them now, saving them a lot of future trouble.

Maybe what he deserved was the same profound loneliness he had felt all his life. Nothing more.

Street's dismayed look laid on a half-dry bush; little yellow flowers tried to survive in a spot they were never supposed to be born. Street narrowed his eyes, and his heart sank. All the way through, those were the same flowers he spotted growing wild on his father's grave. They closed sorrowfully and hopelessly under the bright morning sun.

The little flowers were tired, Street thought, just like he was. They couldn't help but surrender, just like him, maybe?

On Street's soul weighed the thought he could be nothing more than an arid bush.

-o- -o- -o-  
\|/ \|/ \|/

_**Author's note:**__ Thank you for reading._

_I'm sorry if this wasn't the usual happy ending some of you may expected (though my initial plan was even more tragic, so...), but that's just how I feel._

_Thanks to Ivedonestranger for the proofread and hearing out all my paranoid vents._

_**The challenge**__: get a flower assigned to you, check up for the meaning, and create a story around it._

_My flower was the__** Evening Primrose **__(Oeanothera Biennins). It's a fragrant wildflower that opens within a minute in the evening and closes again in the late morning. Blooming lasts from late spring to late summer, and it prefers sunny and arid places. _

_**Evening Primrose's**__ meaning in the flower language is __**inconstancy **__or__** mute devotion**__._


End file.
